


Loyalty and Other Temptations

by yourlocalai



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, Getting Together, Interconnected Drabbles, Introspection, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalai/pseuds/yourlocalai
Summary: Arthur, exhausted and high on relief in the wake of Kilgharrah's attack, takes Merlin to his bed.It could be the start of something wonderful, if Merlin could find it in himself to be happy about it.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	Loyalty and Other Temptations

Arthur's shield brother, they call him, even if they would never be so bold as to say it where Arthur could hear.

But Merlin hears, whispers bleeding from the armory to the servants' quarters and out into the lower town. The older knights treat him with a newfound measure of respect, grasping his arm as he tends to their wounds, the memory of dragonfire still shining in their eyes. The common folk tell tales of how he'd taken up arms, his accomplishments growing in magnitude with each retelling until he'd single-handedly brought the dragon down, defending his Prince to the end. Children re-enact the battle, sticks brandished in chubby hands claiming to be his own.

He brought ruin down on them all, and they commend his loyalty.

Arthur's shield brother; brave, steadfast, ever present. Merlin presses his face harder into the pillows, stifling a groan as Arthur's lips trail along his shoulders, and thinks they don't know how right they are.

* * *

It is Arthur who starts it, high on danger and the giddiness of having survived it. Hands trembling with exhaustion, Merlin is undoing the clasps on Arthur’s armor when he finds himself pushed up against the desk, legs spread around Arthur’s waist and Arthur’s lips on his own.

It shouldn’t be as good as it is, both of them still reeking of ash and sweat and fear and Merlin at least without any clue what he is doing, but it is. Arthur’s skin is sweeter than the purest glass of water, his whispered compliments soothing the mass of guilt growing wild in his gut. Arthur presses their foreheads together and _sees_ him, his eyes locked unerringly on Merlin’s face. It is Merlin he wants, Merlin he is choosing to share this with.

He falls asleep before Arthur has even finished.

The next morning he wakes up clean and underneath the blankets, flushing when he realizes Arthur must have tended to him in the night. Arthur is still sleeping beside him, his fingertips resting lightly, possessively on Merlin’s hip.

He doesn’t wake when Merlin pulls himself away, and when he returns with Arthur’s morning meal, they don’t say a word.

* * *

Arthur is a surprisingly tender lover. He does not throw Merlin against walls or drag him into alcoves. His kisses do not leave bruises, and his hands do not leave marks.

Merlin almost wishes they would.

It’s the secrecy of the whole thing that bothers him. _Don’t stare too long, don’t smile too wide, don’t say the wrong thing._ Outside of Arthur’s bedroom, and only Arthur’s bedroom, nothing changes. He is still a servant, still a sorcerer in hiding, only now, apparently, he is also a whore.

A bitter taste coats the back of his tongue, and he isn’t sure exactly when it appeared.

It isn’t that Arthur is cruel, any more than he’s ever been, but neither is he any more kind. Merlin is still dragged onto the training pitch, laughed at, pushed around, dismissed, a supporting role in Arthur’s story. What he’d once been able to take as playful teasing, what might still be playful teasing, takes on a darker cast whenever he remembers the earnestness with which Arthur calls him beautiful. He can’t tell which one is the lie.

Late at night, when the moon is new and light is provided only by a few scattered candles, he catches sight of the two of them in the mirror; entangled, flushed with pleasure, moving as one.

All he sees are two actors, performing alone on their stage.

* * *

The bed can be a tempting confessor.

There is safety in the dark, the weight and warmth of the sheets surrounding him like a cradle. Would it soften the blow, to speak now? To lay all his secrets bare when he himself is laid bare as well? He can almost imagine it, the candles snuffed out, replaced with the glow of his eyes, Arthur asking questions as he runs his fingertips over scars he’s never seen in daylight. All the anger in the world couldn’t overpower the devotion in Merlin’s touch.

There is probably something wrong with him, that he feels more at home here than he has anywhere else, with anyone else. Servant and Master, sorcerer and executioner.

Lover and loved.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the WIP of a larger piece I'd had rattling around in my head for a while. It was originally going to include a section with Gwen/Lancelot in the same vein, then end in Merlin/Lancelot and Gwen/Arthur. I could never figure out how to work the other three relationships in in a way that flowed well, but I liked this first part enough that I kept it on its own.


End file.
